


A Collective List Of Things Not Said

by uppityroman



Category: Green Wing
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mac Is Done, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Original Female Character, POV Outsider, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Subtext, Therapy, but make it dumb as all shit, guy secretan process feelings in a healthy way challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29686407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uppityroman/pseuds/uppityroman
Summary: “I want it on the record. As in, write that down. I don’t need therapy. I’m not crazy.”“Therapy isn’t just for crazy people. It can help a lot, in a lot of different ways. Processing trauma is an important step in healing.”Guy snorts. "I don’t need to ‘heal’. I’m completely fine.”“As you keep saying.”“On the record.”OR, alternatively, Guy Secretan really does need therapy.





	A Collective List Of Things Not Said

**Author's Note:**

> I think it goes without saying that a) I am not a therapist, don't use this as mental health advice, b) this is GREEN WING, it's chaotic and weird and this isn't how therapy should be in real life.

Miriam Lyon is not an idiot. She's a damn good therapist, too, if her recommendations say anything about it. Regardless, there are times when she can't get a read on a patient, when they're out of her grasp, when they become enigmas, unsolvable puzzles that she is desperate to solve. There are patients that are blank slates, empty and unreadable, and she can't tell where to start.

Guillaume Secretan is not one of those patients. 

She can read Guillaume Secretan like a book. 

First; he doesn't want to be there. Not a surprise, considering what she read in his file. Second; he's uncomfortable and trying to pretend not to be. She can tell from his body language, his expression, everything. There are things he doesn't want to talk about. Third; he's going to be an exceedingly difficult patient. It's just common sense, from the way he sits, _sprawls,_ really, in the nicer of the two armchairs in her office, and immediately starts tapping his fingers on the arms of the seat, staring determinedly at the ceiling.

His suit's too big, undoubtedly expensive. His hair is a mess, growing longer than looks good on him. He's tired looking, covering it up with a faux swagger that doesn't fool Miriam for a moment. All in all, it's a rather sad picture. 

"Call me Guy," is the first thing he says when he sits down. "No one calls me Guillaume except for my father."

 _Father, hm?_ Miriam crosses out Guillaume in her notebook and writes in Guy. "French?" she asks.

"Swiss," comes the reply. Short and to the point. 

"Switzerland is lovely," she provides. "Have you been there much?"

Guy looks incredibly offended. " _Have I_ \- _yes_ I've been there! I'm bloody Swiss!"

It's not the response that she'd been expecting, but it's interesting nonetheless. Very interesting. 

"I'm Miriam."

"I know," Guy says, curtly, crossing his arms, and then uncrossing them again. His hands go to the armrests of the chair, then to his knees. Miriam isn't put off by his short answers.

"Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself?" It's the best way to get him feeling comfortable.

Guy gives her a look. He takes a deep breath and stares back at the ceiling. Miriam can tell he’s the kind of man who hates silence. It's a waiting game now. 

After what feels like an age, he looks back at her, tapping his fingers on the chair again. “I’m an anaesthetist.”

“Do you like your job?”

“Yeah, I s’pose. Pays well, and the ladies love a doctor.” He smirks, here, and winks at her. She stares at him. He leans back in the chair. “Yeah, it’s alright.”

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about why you’re here today?”

Guy groans loudly, and she blinks. “It says in my file.”

“I’d like to hear it from you.”

“But it _says._ ”

“And I would much prefer to hear it from you.”

Guy rolls his eyes and fidgets in his seat. “I’ve _got_ to be here, apparently. Court said I was _'_ _clearly very deeply disturbed’_ and _‘a danger to myself and others'._ I mean, it’s ridiculous! _Me,_ disturbed!” He lets out a high pitched laugh and promptly shuts up. There’s a brief silence. “I s’pose it’s better than being in prison. But I want it on the record that this is bloody _injustice_.” 

Silence.

“I want it on the record. As in, write that down. I don’t need therapy. I’m _not_ crazy.”

“Therapy isn’t just for crazy people. It can help a lot, in a lot of different ways. Processing trauma is an important step in healing.”

Guy snorts. "I don’t need to _‘heal’_. I’m completely fine.”

“As you keep saying.”

“On the record.”

Miriam blinks once. She writes it down. Guy leans back in the seat even further, and puts on a sour face she assumes is intended to intimidate her. It’s not working, because frankly, he’s not very intimidating. 

“Why don’t we talk about why you’re here?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Well, we won’t if you don’t want to,” she says, “But there’s not much we can do if we don’t.”

“Bollocks! You’re a therapist, just - I dunno, just sign some papers saying I’m fine to go back to work and I can get out of your hair.” He eyes her ponytail distastefully. 

“I’m afraid that’s not how this works.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is therapy, not a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

“Bollocks.”

“Now, Guy, would you like to tell me about what happened, or do you just want me to take what the court said as gospel?”

Guy hesitates for the tiniest fraction of a second before crossing his arms, sliding back in his chair, and sighing loudly. “I hate this.”

“I can tell. Now, why don’t we start by talking a bit about your mother?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mess, and I'm not sorry.


End file.
